One s Own Fairy Tale

  “Dad, tell me a fairy tale.”

  “It’s late already, son. Time to sleep.”

  “Come on, Dad, tell me one!”

  “All right, all right. What kind of fairy tale do you want?”

  “Just… a fairy tale.”

  “Are there fairy tales that aren’t ‘just’ fairy tales? All fairy tales are fairy tales.”
 
  “No, Dad, no! Fairy tales about princes, or wizards, or beautiful ladies. About something… special. And you — tell me a fairy tale about a person.”

  “A fairy tale about a person? There are plenty of those. All the fairy tales in the world are about a person.”

  “Then tell me your fairy tale.”

  “My own fairy tale! That’s a good idea! One’s own fairy tale… Probably everyone should tell their own fairy tale — about a person. All right then: once upon a time there lived a person…”

  “What was his name?”

  “He didn’t have one. Just a person. With a lowercase letter.”

  “Is there such a thing as an uppercase one?”

  “There is, son. Not very often, but it happens. But my fairy tale is about a person with a lowercase letter. And if you keep interrupting, I won’t finish it in time.”

  “I won’t. Go on.”

  “So. There once lived a person. An ordinary person, like you and me. Of course, he didn’t live alone. Are there fairy tales about just one person? Can you imagine yourself alone?”

  “Without you and Mom?”

  “Without me and Mom.”

  “And without Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “Yes.”

  “And without everyone—everyone?”

  “Without everyone.”

  “Nooo… Dad, your fairy tale won’t be scary, will it?”

  “Of course not, son. Fairy tales aren’t scary. Fairy tales can be sad. Reality is what’s scary.”

  “Do you get scared too, Dad?”

  “Of course. I’m scared even now.”

  “Why, Dad?”

  “Because I have you, son… But it’s late — let’s get back to our fairy tale. So, the person lived among other people, but unlike you, he didn’t like living surrounded by them. It felt uncomfortable, and a little frightening. So he spent a great deal of effort trying to separate himself from everyone else. Imagine it — fences everywhere, fortress walls, iron bars. Angry dogs. Behind those high fences, the person with a lowercase letter tried to build his own small happiness—and failed to find it.”

  “And then…”

  “And then he understood that all the evil was in the fence. The fences were torn down! Wide avenues and squares were built, parks were laid out. People began to live in large buildings—very large ones, like ours. All together. They decided that the more people around them, the more happiness there would be. And again, they were wrong. It turned out the fence wasn’t the problem.”

  “And in reality…”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’? There are no fairy tales like that! Don’t do that! A fairy tale has to have an ending!”

  “You’re right — it should. But I don’t know it.”

  “Then make one up! What does it cost you? Please!”

  “I will. I will definitely make one up. I’ll think all night. And you go to sleep — it’s very late. Maybe the ending of our fairy tale will come to you in a dream. To you. And tomorrow will finally come. Sleep, son. Sleep.”